


Strange Aches

by okapi



Category: Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, Bondage, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Roleplay of Non-Con Scenario, Double Anal Penetration (Tentacles and Human), M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Sex Toys, Storytelling, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22693180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Aronnax and Nemo share stories and fantasies.PWP. Includes consensual roleplay of a non-con scenario with a cephalopodan sex toy. Takes place in the same AU asTentacles!For the DW holiday Season of Kink.
Relationships: Nemo/Cephalopod, Pierre Aronnax/Capitaine Nemo | Pierre Aronnax/Captain Nemo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20
Collections: Season of Kink





	Strange Aches

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW Holiday season of kink. My prompts (chosen by a random number generator from the list of 100 possible prompts) were: tentacles, barebacking, and anonymity. 
> 
> I recgonise that octopus and squid are two different types of creatures and that tentacles and arms are in fact two different kinds of appendages. The language in this fic is not precise and if the muddling of these terms will throw you out of the fic and reduce your enjoyment of it, then I recommend you do not read.

Something thick and meaningful hung in the ether between Captain Nemo and myself. Something sparked and kindled in the eerie light, in the faint and flickering ghostly blue shadows cast on our stoic expressions by the sea creatures moving at paces languid and spritely beyond the glass. These somethings told me that I was about to be privy to one of the captain’s very rare confidences.

Nemo and I had been lovers for less than a fortnight, each having discovered in the other a kindred appreciation for a rare source of carnal stimulus, but at the moment I am recalling, it was evening and we were simply sitting adjacent to one another, that is, we had not yet, on that occasion, indulged in our shared fancy, if so strange an urge might be called by so light a name.

We were in the room used solely for our coupling, the one that adjoined the captain’s own sleeping quarters. Each was wrapped in a dressing gown, each was ensconced in a comfortable armchair, each was gazing out on the ocean depths through a single enormous arched glass window. We watched the sea and the passing marine creatures the way two men in other parts of the world might watch a crackling fire on a cold, winter’s night, and perhaps that was the mood, so conducive to yarn-telling, that prompted Captain Nemo to say,

“When I told you of my encounter with the creature in the sunken ship, I led you to believe it was the first of such incident in my life. It was not. There was an earlier one.”

He must’ve known he had my full attention even though my eyes were fixed ahead on a school of brightly-coloured fish swimming by. Nemo was a sensitive, if stubborn, man, and so he must also have known that even those few words stirred something in me.

“How much earlier?” I prompted, attempting to keep my voice even, conveying my interest but hiding my nascent arousal.

“I wasn’t child if that’s what you’re asking,” he said quickly. “I was a man, but a young man. And most of the events which have guided my life had not yet occurred. Perhaps,” he paused and tilted his head as if in consideration, and when he spoke again, his voice was tinged with a mild, philosophical surprise, “but, perhaps, in hindsight, I can say it was the first of such events.” He then added, hastily, dismissively, “I have not had much cause to reflect on such things.”

He glanced at me and the import of that look was not lost on me. Captain Nemo had not been inspired to reflect on his personal history and the way that history shaped his proclivities until he met one who shared the latter.

I gave a nod of acknowledgement, and he turned his gaze back to the sea.

“I was swimming in the ocean. I was in training; what kind of training is of no relevance. I had been doing quite a lot of swimming, among other things, but, you see, but at the time of which I speak I was swimming by myself, for my own enjoyment. I was at leisure, and that was rare. I suppose you might say that I was ‘sea bathing.’” He spoke the final phrase slowly and with careful rolling of his tongue as if it were in a language unknown to him.

I nodded again.

“An isolated cove was before me. I was quite alone. And then I felt it. Something curled round my ankle.”

He paused. I swallowed.

“I would’ve reacted in fear if that were all that occurred,” Nemo continued. “I would’ve instinctively kicked or fled if it were not for what happened next. It curled round my ankle, and it ticked the sole of my foot with the tip of something.”

He turned his head towards me.

My eyebrows were raised. I dipped my head low and tilted it toward him, demonstrating my heightened interest.

“A diver, perhaps?” I suggested, knowing he would not be recounting the story if the touch had come from so mundane a source.

“It was not human skin that brushed me, Aronnax, of that I swear. It was decidedly animal and marine in nature.”

Our eyes met, and I nodded for a third time. He continued.

“I had attached to me a kind of lifesaver, a flotation strip which could be hooked and fashioned into a ring. I’d brought it for when I tired, and with gentle movements, I reached for it and slipped around me. My fear was that the creature might pull me under, but it released me.”

“Then it gripped my leg again, this time curling more of its extremity, a length covered with suckers, Aronnax, around my lower limb. The suckers gave a somewhat textured quality to its touch. Not pinching, per se, but not entirely smooth either. It squeezed my calf and repeated the caress along the length of the sole of my foot. It was a playful caress, or so I imagined it, who knows if any such adjective is a gross projection of my own human sensibilities upon an animal to whom such notions are entirely foreign. I bent the knee of my free legs and attempted to imitate the gesture against the rough limb which held me fast. This won me a curling caress of that leg by a twin appendage. So, you see, at that, it had me by both legs, ribboning up me in much the way a ballet dancer ties her shoes.”

My eyes were now fixed, unseeingly, on the scene before us, but I puffed a noise of mirth at the image.

“Think of it, Aronnax,” said Nemo and something in his voice compelled me to close my eyes as I did so. “It could have easily wrenched me down and drowned me. It was capable of it. I felt the strength of its grip in the way it flexed and relaxed its muscles as it moved. But it did not pull me down, it crawled up me.”

I shivered.

“Think of it, Aronnax,” he said again, quite unnecessarily for I could think of nothing else at the moment, “I was a cork, bobbing on the waves. I could see the shore. It was not so far away. There were figures walking on the sand. If I turned myself, I could see the horizon and a boat or two in the distance. All above was calm and peaceful. The sun was shining. But below the surface…”

I held my breath.

“…below the surface, it was claiming me. You see, it had designs on me. There is no other way to put it.”

I exhaled a groan and sank deeper in my chair. The captain’s words had aroused me to an extent I could hide my state no longer. I allowed a slight part in the lower halves of my dressing gown, exposing my stiff prick to the cool air of the room.

“It oozed a lubricating substance as it curled round my shaft—”

“You were nude?” I interjected.

“Yes.”

Another small groan escaped my lips.

“—it didn’t so much as stroke me as squeeze me, in the manner of a python snake preparing its prey for consumption. It would periodically halt its ministrations to stop to tickle the sole of my foot, and it released one of my legs that I might return to the gesture, which I did. Of course, at the moment, I had little thoughts but of the pleasure it was giving me, and the stark contrast of the seemingly ordinary world above the water versus the singularly extraordinary one below, but, looking back, I suppose the limb that constricted and relaxed about my shaft was a single one, perhaps the longest or most dexterous, for other limbs began to brush my legs with light, exploratory touches. There are not words to express the pleasure I felt, but I think you understand, regardless.”

I forced my eyes open. “Yes,” I gasped. I spared a single glance down at my own prick, which was now leaking, but I kept my white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair. I vowed not to touch myself until the story had reached its unnatural climax.

I turned my head and saw that Nemo’s gaze was directed admiringly at my body. I pushed up on the arms of the chair and thrust my pelvis up, offering him a long look at the state of arousal provoked by his tale.

The sides of my dressing gown fell away, and Nemo said, with what I hoped was admiration, “Just so.”

I lowered my hips and asked in a shaky voice, “Did it…?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “It found my anal orifice with its curious fingers and penetrated me, filling me and stretching me as it squeezed my shaft and tangled the whole of my lower body with its remaining limbs. I was like a fish caught in a bed of sea fronds, fronds which had carnal designs on my person. God, it was extraordinary!”

“The suckers would have had receptors on them,” I said huskily.

“Yes, it was tasting me as it pleasured me. There was no barrier, you see, between it and me. I felt its skin as well as its muscle moving inside me. It stretched me with care, again, I don’t know if such a term can be applied to such a creature or such an act, and I gripped the aptly named lifesaver for all my existence was worth.”

“I was floating like a bit of driftwood on the vast ocean and being ravished from below by one of its creatures.” He sighed. “Eased by its own secretions, it penetrated me as it squeezed me, and…”

I pried my eyes open at the pause and force myself to look at him.

His hand was dropping back to the arm of the chair, the end of a wave for which no interpretation was required.

“And then it left me, released me. Its final gesture, a farewell, I suppose, was the same as its first: a tickle of the sole of my foot. And then I was engulfed in a dark cloud of ink. I continued to float for some time, how long I don’t know, then slowly made my way back to shore.”

I was at my snapping point.

“Nemo.”

“Yes.”

I don’t rightly know if his reply was an assent to what I did next, but I took it as such.

I sprang from my seat, letting my dressing gown fall to the floor and leapt upon his chair, my knees on the arms and thrust my prick in his mouth.

I held his head as I thrust, but my eyes were closed. I do not know if Nemo’s eyes were also closed or if he was still watching, out of the corners of his eyes, the changing seascape beyond the glass.

I don’t know and I don’t care. I was rendered so taut by his words that I required very little to reach my crest, which I did almost at once.

When he had swallowed my ejaculate without a noise or grimace, I drew my prick from his mouth and looked down, my upper body curled over him.

“Would it please you to watch a re-creation of the event?” he asked.

“I thought you said you had not yet found a specimen for us.”

“I haven’t, and it would be difficult to precisely recreate the event which I described even if I had, but when I designed the facsimile,” here he was referring to the engineered replica of a cephalopod that was a frequent companion to our sexual encounters, “with a mode which reproduces, to the best of my memory and my skill as an inventor, the specific scenario I have just described.”

My eyebrows rose. I was surprised, and immediately, I silently chastised myself for my surprise. Nemo, who had orchestrated a life in which the sea met all his needs would, of course, create a lover who did so as well, down to the capacity to reenact with precision a sequence of acts from his formative years.

“Yes, I would like that.” I removed myself from his chair and sought my dressing gown, somewhat relieved to note his own stiff prick tenting his dressing gown and his clumsiness in rising. Selfishly, I should not have liked to think that my lover was immune to such a story, even one coming from his own lips.

I was familiar enough with the room and with Nemo to go to the wall and push the buttons that would initiate the slide of the coverings to the window and raise the lights in the room’s interior.

By the time Nemo reached the doors of the wardrobe, his stride was more even. He rolled the violet-coloured squid of his own making, which was mounted on a stand, to the edge of the bed. He then threw off his dressing gown and stretched himself out.

“Aronnax, would you be so good as to start it?”

It was another testimony to the trust we’d forged over the past fortnight that he now felt comfortable in asking me to take charge of the apparatus. He told me the code to tap into the control panel on the stand, and after placing a simple straight chair at the best viewing angle, I did so.

It was, in short, Nemo’s story come to life.

He was horizontal on the bed, but as the squid came to life and turned its saucer-like, lidless eye on him, it rotated to match so that one might simply imagine the frame turned askew.

It took him just as he’d described.

Tickling his foot. Curling round one, then both of his legs. Oozing its secretions and wrapping round his prick. Stretching him. Filling him.

Nemo’s eyes were closed, and I knew that he had been transported to the world of memory. It was no less erotic to me for that, however, and my prick was soon stiff anew.

When Nemo had found his release and had seemed to have recovered, I asked politely if I might mount him.

His reply was to roll on his stomach and attempt to lift his hindquarters from the bed.

I lost no haste in finding my second release inside him, discovering afresh, as was my wont, that the experience was even more charged knowing with whom, or what, I was sharing him.

I noted when I withdrew my spent prick that Nemo’s chest still rose and fell with some violence. I looked upon his nape and damp hair, and I was suddenly swept up in a wave of tenderness for this very private man lying exposed beneath me.

It must’ve been that surge of emotion that prompted me to match Nemo’s confession with one of my own, and so, with the sound of quiet panting still filling the room, I leaned down and whispered a fantasy into the shell of his ear.

It was a reverie well-suited for self-pleasure but certainly not a scenario I had ever desired to realise outside the confines of my own thoughts.

Nemo simply grunted,

“Another time.”

* * *

It was exceedingly rare that Nemo and I slept together, but we agreed that to realise my fantasy an exception could made.

And so, on a later night, or perhaps an early morning, I was pulled from a deep sleep by a tickling, the tickling of the sole of my foot. My leg recoiled instinctively from the touch, and it was then that I discovered I was tethered at the ankle by a rope.

Part of me was still entangled in the web of Queen Mab, but part of me was very much alive to what was happening.

My fantasy was being made real.

The tickling was repeated. I made to jerk my leg away again and was frustrated. Frustrated on the surface, that is, on the exterior, but inside, every nerve crackled with lusty anticipation.

I was its captive!

As soon as the idea struck, both of my ankles were seized, and I was turned squarely onto my back. The light bedclothes were drawn away from my nude form.

Drawn, I assume, by Nemo.

I finally opened my eyes and stared down my body. There was just enough light in the room, mostly provided by the phosphorescence of the creature, to see two tentacles, supple violet-grey ribbons decorated with hundreds of pale, round circles, lace up my lower limbs. It was just as Nemo had described. The rest of the creature’s appendages simply writhed in a squirmy halo about this possession, and the eye, that single enormous otherworldly eye, looked upon me with the strangest mix of sentiments: curiosity, pity, hunger, haughty indifference.

I tried to kick. It held me.

I tried again, with greater effort, to free myself. It rocked ever so slightly on its stand.

That was Nemo’s cue.

He joined me on the bed and adjusted us so that he was partially supported by the wall and a bank of cushions. I was lying against his chest, my upper body slotted between his parted and bent legs.

Then my struggle began in earnest.

I fought, at least with arms and chest, but now Nemo was holding me fast while the tentacles advanced up my legs like vines climbing a trellis. 

“Take him! Take him!” urged Nemo, and the lack of artifice in his voice made my blood simmer to a boil.

I groaned aloud when the full force of it hit me: I was at the mercy of Nemo and this creature!

The fear, the wonder, the marvel! How can I describe the sweetness of that blend of emotion!

My chest heaved, and every breath I drew was ragged and coarse.

I jerked futilely.

Nemo was an exceptionally strong man, his strength being of the sinewy but robust variety as is often found in older seamen before the gout and the wheezing claims them.

My thrashing produced very little effect save the heightening of my own arousal. Nemo’s arms were threaded through my own, clamping them securely to my sides and ensuring that any movement of my torso was but the minor wiggling of a fish on the hook.

Suddenly, I stopped kicking, stopped thrashing, and watched, watched as the tentacle, now oozing, reached my prick and spiraled up it.

“Mon Dieu!” I cried.

What an incredible sight! One I had only dared to imagine in my sweat-soaked dreams. And as many who find themselves aware that they are dreaming while they are asleep, I vowed to prolong the pleasure. I did not want to wake.

Purposefully channeling my natural self-preservation at such an assault, I made one last Herculean lurch to break free from Nemo’s grasp.

In vain.

The eye did not blink, and I’d not moved an inch.

“Yes,” said Nemo, whispering in my ear, though still ostensibly addressing the creature, “claim him entirely for your own. He is yours. I have plucked him from the sea as a gift for you. Taste his sweet meat and ravish him. He is already one with us in spirit, make it so in flesh.”

I shifted once more, but this time it was a weak gesture, more clownish pantomime than show of strength. Nemo, sensing my state, asked in a gruff voice,

“Surrender?”

“Oh, yes,” I breathed and, as if already spent, relaxed against him with a heavy sigh.

I shall endeavour to record the sensations produced as the constricting began, as the probing of my anal orifice commenced, as the remainder of the suckered limbs began to minister to the whole of my legs, paying special attention to the back of my knees, my inner thighs, and, of course, the soles of my feet with their tantilising strokes. I was lightheaded. A hard heat pooled in my groin. I felt exquisitely trapped and, at the same time, wholly free to float among the ocean waves or amidst the canopy of clouds or upon warm sea breezes aside the cawing gulls.

Nemo’s grip slackened as I arched into the coiling and uncoiling round my prick, lifting my hips, inviting more and deeper anal penetration.

“That’s right, Aronnax. Good.”

I tilted my head back and made to close my eyes, the latter gesture was forestalled by a tightening of the hair at my crown in Nemo’s fist.

“Watch,” he ordered. “I had no such luxury at my initiation. Though, admittedly,” his voice softened, “if I had, I daresay I’d have been too timorous to take advantage of it. I was a young man.”

I forced my eyes open and put my chin to my chest and watched a large tentacle, flanked by two smaller ones, slip beneath me.

I moaned at the delicious occupation that followed.

The hold on my prick seemed to lessen, but perhaps that was to allow my natural pulsing to take over. My chest was bathed in sweat, my moans had turned to whimpering, and I was ready to be put out of my fantastic misery.

I cried out when the tentacle buried deep inside me flickered against my most sensitive spot and, or so it seemed, a power to rival that which gave the Nautilus its life coursed through my body and out into the air. The creature tormented me relentlessly, until every drop of my seed was spent.

Then, limp and seemingly enervated, the tentacles retreated, and the glow of the bulbous head dimmed to extinguishment.

“Nemo,” I panted.

“Yes, I confess Doctor Aronnax, I did not anticipate the effect that witnessing such a scene would have on me.”

“You may,” I replied, not knowing if I had rightly caught the underlying question in his statement.

I had.

He turned me over and took his pleasure from my anal orifice.

I barely felt it.

I was bobbing on the sea, ringed by a lifesaver, listening to the call of the sea birds and feeling the warm sun caressing my cheeks and shoulders.

We repeated the exercise twice before our circumstances changed, each time slightly altering the parametres to augment Nemo’s new-found pleasure while not diminishing my own.

Nemo admitted that he was indifferent to his role as captor, but that he enjoyed watching me being taken seemingly against my will so much that he greatly wished to be free to pleasure himself while it transpired.

And so, quite naturally according to these rare Nature of ours, I let him tie me up.

The sight of Nemo prowling about the bed, stroking his magnificent prick and tossing obscene encouragements at the creature more than compensated for the fact I was very much awake at the beginning of the scene rather than being dragged from slumber, as was my original fantasy.

And the knots the man tied, well, they were works of art in and of themselves. I have since on more than one occasion tried to recreate the wild configurations of sea rope and have failed miserably at every attempt. I don’t know how he did it. 

I was tethered to rings which had been, for the express purpose by Nemo himself, installed in the walls and on the bed frame. The creature took me much as before except the field between my legs, where its tentacles teemed, was wider, and, or so it seemed, the caresses of the unoccupied appendages even more stimulating, ranging as they did from my nipples to the crease between my toes.

I was made hard and soft, swollen and wet, and, above all, claimed by Nemo and the one-eyed pulpy creature.

I reached my peak just I had the first time, and Nemo timed his release with mine, pumping his prick and aiming his streams at my chest and abdomen. I fancy he almost smiled at our pooled mess, but I admit I was in no fit state after climax to trust my powers of observation and conjecture unreservedly.

After that, I placed my trust wholly in Nemo, saying he might do with me as he wished, and though circumstance dictated that there would only be one more indulgence of that sort, I have never had reason for regret.

I’d kipped briefly on the bed and woke to find myself being divested of my dressing gown. My body’s eager, instinctive response to so slight a preparation can be imagined at this point.

This time I was bound, ankles and wrists together, and laid on my side on the bed. I l briefly lamented the fact I could not see Nemo’s handsome knots, but any disappointment was quickly drowned in the lust provoked by the creature, and Nemo’s, caresses and explorations.

I soon realised the cause of such care. For when my body was at its most affected state, breath ragged, nipples pebbled, eyes tearing, skin damp and flush with rising blood, prick beefy red with engorgement and leaking copiously, Nemo and the creature claimed me together.

I suppose it was two of the slender tentacles along with Nemo’s prick that breeched me because somewhere in my subtle mind, I felt their texture rubbing against all sides of my orifice. I was laid bare, inside and out, for their taking, trussed, basting in my own sweat and hasty emissions, all sensation pleasure and all thought swaddled in brine-scented cotton wool. 

I sucked. The tentacles. Nemo’s fingers, his bollocks, his prick. How many times and in what configurations, I do not know, but I do know that I washed up, unbound and bleary-eyed, on the shore of consciousness, perhaps as Nemo had after his first encounter so many years earlier, with strange aches in body and mind and a wonder at what had just happened to me and what it all meant.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you will probably like [Tentacles!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717717), too.


End file.
